


Some Books Just Swallow You Whole

by LoonyLoomy



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkwardness, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLoomy/pseuds/LoonyLoomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper knows well how his curiosity can be ignited by a book—so when a customer leaves one behind, it’s all he can think about to uncover the mystery of the author.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance for the poetry. I tried.

 

 “Alright, kids! Last customer's gone, get to work and clean up.”

Dipper resignedly picked up a broom and started sweeping. It felt like he hadn't had any excitement, any new threads to mysteries, for ages now. He could understand why Wendy made no move to leave her seat by the counter―with dust slowly drifting across the now dimming sunbeams, and the only sound coming from people milling around the Shack, it felt too peaceful to do much. Or too _dull_.

“Hey, Wendy! Check out this new invention I made! They're like a normal pair of glasses, but they have _disco ball_ material on them so it's like a party wherever you go!”

Of course, Dipper could always count on Mabel to ignore all sense of idyllic quietness. He was grateful for that today.

“Wow, this is really awesome. Like, I can't see a thing, but I'm _happy_ about it. Nice job, Mabel.”

He looked up to see Wendy wearing the ridiculous-looking glasses and rolled his eyes, managing to stop himself from snorting in amusement. He moved away from the girls as he swept around the edges of some of the attractions, listening to Mabel kick her invention up a notch by turning on a bunch of coloured lights.

When Wendy made a sharp sound of surprise, the lights touching the walls and gift shop items abruptly disappeared, and Mabel bashfully said, “We'll work out the kinks before I move onto the next prototype.”

Dipper was paying enough attention to them that he didn't immediately realise why there was something in the way of his broom, and he absent-mindedly tried to sweep it away as he looked back to Wendy rubbing her eyes and then giving a hair-ruffle of forgiveness to Mabel. When it barely budged, he turned back to what he was doing and started slightly as he saw a notebook that didn't look like it belonged to anyone working at the Mystery Shack. He picked it up and furrowed his brow―it must have been left by a visitor. “Hey, Mabel?”

Mabel immediately flung her arms onto his shoulders, making him jump, as she leaned over him to look at his discovery. “Oh, cool! Someone left us free stuff!”

“I don't think―”

“Grunkle Stan always says we can take stuff the 'Lost and Found' box if no one comes for it, so I'm calling dibs on this for developing my Disco Glasses. Then you can wear them while you're singing along to BABBA,” she said teasingly, pinching his cheek. He batted her away from him and kept the notebook out of her reach.

“I'm sure _someone_ will come and get it. We just have to be...patient,” he said, taking in the stillness of the Mystery Shack again. “I mean, maybe we should... Well―maybe they've written their name inside it, so we could find out who in Gravity Falls this belongs to and return it to them.”

“ _Maybe it belongs to a cute boy!_ ”

“Or an old lady.”

“That would be good, too.”

Dipper rolled his eyes again and opened the notebook. The first thing his eyes were drawn to was the huge blocks of text filling the page, and then―nope, no name written that he could see. He flicked through the rest of the book, and found that about half of the pages had been written in, and the other half was blank, for now. No name on the back, either.

“Okay, that didn't work out. We'll just have to wait for the owner to come back, then.”

“Gotta admit, I'm glad you're not leaving on some quest to find this guy with just me and Soos to clear up...” Wendy said, not having moved from her position.

“Oh, um, yeah. Right. Sorry.” He placed the book down on the counter and swept.

“Don't sweat it, man, just keep doin' what you're doin'.” She settled down more comfortably and picked up a magazine.

Dipper shook his head and got on with it. Mabel went to fetch Waddles, who she claimed was _vitally_ important in her task to refill the vending machine, and he could hear Soos coming in from outside where he'd been doing some reparations to the house.

The notebook nagged at him as he did his work―what was written inside there? What kind of person did it belong to? It felt like he was finding the journal all over again; there was an insatiable curiosity in him to uncover its secrets.

But he realised that would be disrespectful. He might read something that they would never tell anyone. Or something that scars him for life. Or maybe it was just a bunch of recipes or something―he was sure some of the pages looked like they could have an ingredients list on them, all short lines one after the other. That would be completely uninteresting. No need to think about it any more. But there were so many possibilities!

Ugh. The wait for its owner would be a long one.

 

Time passed, as it was wont to do, no matter how frustrated a boy got about a notebook. The orange sky was washed out with a deep blue palette and the owls started piling up on the driveway as they hooted into the night. Dipper, Mabel and Grunkle Stan watched TV until it was late enough to justify going to bed: an end to another day.

 

Dipper stared up at the ceiling. Maybe if he just read one page―or even just a few words―he'd see that whatever's in that notebook wasn't at all exciting and he could leave it alone. That wouldn't hurt anybody, right? Or, or he'd see that it was really personal and he wouldn't care about what they were saying in it because it was just some random person he didn't know. Surely that would be better than lying there and not getting any sleep.

Dipper rolled onto his side. After enough nights spent together in the same room, he could tell that the Mabel-shaped lump snuggled up under the sheets was definitely fast asleep. The alarm clock: 11pm. Barely what he would consider late. But...he could still rationalise that he should be concerned about lost sleep at this point. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up.

He encountered no problems on his journey, clutching the notebook close to him like it was a baby he was trying to protect.

Flashlight from the bedside desk in hand, sheets covering him to keep his disturbance to Mabel a minimum, he begun to read.

_To be so fragmented is a difficult existence. They believe they are crafting me into a chef-d'oeuvre, beautifully planned, beautifully executed. Do they know not what the dangers are of addling prose with the influences of so many? Am I the centrepiece, an addendum, a footnote? Have they deigned such a consideration worthy of a decision, or are they too preoccupied with an altogether more simple novel, for which no such consideration is necessary?_

Wait―what? Dipper had conjured up a multitude of different possibilities for the notebook, but nothing like _this_. It felt like something out of the 1800s, and it was...well, Dipper could barely think of how to describe it. It was nothing like what he'd read before, anyway. He couldn't tell if he thought it was enchanting or pretentious. But there was one thing he _was_ sure about―it was _intriguing_. And Dipper realised he was very, very misguided to ever think he could read a little bit of it and then stop.

The tone of the writing carried on similarly for a few more paragraphs, the writer going on to compare themselves to a kit who was pushed out of the family for a runt. But then, it changed.

_I don't know. Philip's saying I should do this, I should do that, even more than he usually does, and it makes me miss when it was just me and Mom. And with going to see Dad again for the first time since Christmas, it's as if I need to pull myself in all these conflicting directions in order to keep this conglomerate of people in my life vaguely recognisable as a family. Greg's no help towards that at all. He's as much_ Philip's _son as he is_ my _brother; neither of them have the authority to shape how my life should be. They just get in the way._

At least Dipper understood what on earth they'd been writing about in the last few paragraphs. Mostly. It was hard to read about these innermost thoughts being written so plainly―whenever he got annoyed at Mabel for 'getting in the way' of what he wanted, like when she won Waddles at the fair, he ultimately understood she was worth putting over himself _before_ any sort of negative thoughts could be put down on paper. This just felt...harsh.

As he read on, he found out that the author wrote about more than just their family. Poems―which he'd mistaken as ingredients lists when he was glancing over them, of all things―dedicated to a girl name Sara started appearing in between the diary-like and literature-like sections. There was always a pervading sense of distance within them; Dipper was reminded of himself and Wendy. In one of the poems, Dipper finally got confirmation that the writer was male: “How could she want a boy like me?” Mabel would be pleased. Although, he didn't described himself all that much―Dipper had no idea what he looked like.

Dipper did learn of other snippets of this person's life, though: he played the clarinet and didn't want to join the marching band; his brother, Greg, seemed a lot like Mabel, always being non-sensical and cheerful; and he was awkward around people, making social blunders and being unable to tell Sara how he felt. Dipper almost started to worry that this was actually one of his clones living their own life.

About one-third of the way in, the writing became...different. Not like the difference between a diary entry and a poem; it seemed like it was the start of another notebook, maybe even another author, but the handwriting was the same. Where once there were very real human experiences, and maybe a few poems about the landscape or historic events, there were now dark, mysterious creatures and people filling the pages. Pumpkin-headed villagers were waiting for the author to die, a woman was possessed by a murderous spirit, and above all, 'the Beast' was tempting the writer into the darkness with deals that were hard to refuse. And they couldn't just be metaphorical. There was no indication of _anything_ like those things before this page.

Dipper's mind raced with questions and ideas. Maybe this marked when the writer came to Gravity Falls―though these things didn't match up exactly with the entries of the journal and what Dipper had seen, it wouldn't take much extrapolation to think that a pumpkin-headed person could have been the Summerween Trickster, the woman could have been a witch, the deal-making 'Beast'...another name for Bill Cipher? This would mean there was another person who knew about this town's secrets! And they _had_ to return for this notebook, and then Dipper could find out everything they knew about it! His heart beat hard against his chest, realising that finally, _finally,_ he'd end this dry spell in his quest to uncover all of Gravity Falls' mysteries. He didn't think that the notebook's owner would know everything, but as long as he knew _something_ , Dipper couldn't wait to find out what it was.

It was only then that he really considered what it would be like when they met―he'd been so engrossed in what the notebook was saying, he didn't stop to think what it would be like seeing the person who was actually living through these things, things he only knew about because...he...invaded his privacy and went through his personal belongings... Oh no. This guy would _hate_ him. Maybe he could bring up the town's mysteries without revealing he did that―he could, uh...just...mention gnomes in passing, or something. That was a completely normal thing to do.

Dipper rubbed his eyes, both because of dissatisfaction and tiredness. He hadn't finished the notebook yet, so maybe if he kept reading he'd find out something without having to talk to the owner. Dipper thought he could have made a good friend since they seemed so similar, but if he found out what he did, there was no way he'd ever want to speak with him. The notebook was all he had now.

Turning the page, what he saw surprised him. It was a poem, entitled 'Brother O' Mine'. There had never been a poem dedicated to Greg before.

_I saw you as a burden to my needs,_

_An elephant who trampled through the woods._

_But I am not the only one who bleeds_

_And you mean more than all my worldly goods._

_You took responsibility from me_

_For my mistakes, and I apologise_

_That from them I would always try to flee_

_Until you had almost met your demise._

_I hope that I will never again stray_

_From seeing you as the joy of my heart._

_For you are brighter than the light of day_

_And I know, from that view, I'll never part._

_You will always be the brother o' mine_

_Like jute, our fates together I will twine._

Dipper's breath caught. He pulled down the sheets surrounding him and looked at the Mabel-shaped lump again, wishing she was awake so he could tell her he loved her.

Oh gosh, that was _horrendously_ sappy. Eugh. Dipper supposed he should commend the writer for turning him into a mess of affection for his sister. He shook his head and continued reading, the initial distaste for how the writer described his brother melting away completely.

Actually, Dipper found himself...really, really admiring him. He definitely thought of the writing as enchanting rather than pretentious now. Being able to write in such a variety of different styles―epic poems as well as sonnets, conversational as well as intellectual―each with the same level of ability and fluidity, it was...impressive. He wrote about becoming better friends with people, and talking to his step-dad more genuinely, and facing up to his problems more often. He still made mistakes, but Dipper couldn't help but feel fond for how much effort he was putting into changing that.

But...as the writer continued to live out his life, he wrote less and less about darkness and monsters. He seemed to regard them as more of a dream eventually; and even though, from what Dipper could gather, Greg saw those things too, he felt he couldn't rightfully say that such impossibilities, like birds that were once human, could possibly be 'real'. Though, from the sound of it, the writer doubted himself... He missed the bird, Beatrice, after all.

Dipper could set him right, show him the journal, show him that everything really was real. It wasn't like the Society of the Blind Eye found him or anything, he just needed a good dose of support.

The last thing written in it was about looking forward to going to a meet-up with his friends in a few days' time. A pretty anti-climactic ending, really.

He looked over at the clock and did a double-take. Was it _really_ already 2 o'clock in the morning? He spent a few moments taking that in before he closed the book. There was nothing else to do now until the writer came back for it―if he came back for it. And Dipper apparently really needed to get to sleep now.


	2. The Consequences

“Dipper! What's the notebook doing in our room? Did you bring it up here last night? Did you read it? Tell me all its juicy gossip!”

Dipper opened his eyes once, twice, thrice, before deciding it was too early to deal with being awake after only a few hours' sleep. He mumbled a vague response and pulled his sheets over his head.

“Come on, bro-bro, the sooner you get up, the sooner we can start looking out for the owner!”

That was true. And tempting. “How long is it 'til the Mystery Shack opens?”

“Ten minutes.”

“What?!” He groaned and got up into a sitting position. At least that gave him an excuse not to shower this morning. “Okay, I'll be down in a minute. You go and keep lookout for people suspiciously wanting to get in early.”

“Aye-aye, cap'n!” she said, giving him a salute and bouncing down the stairs.

When Dipper was presentable enough to be seen in public, he caught up with Mabel and asked her how it was going. “Nothing to report yet, sir!”

“Okay.” She raised an eyebrow. “Uh...at ease?” That seemed like the answer she wanted: she smiled and hopped onto the counter, saying a greeting to Grunkle Stan as he came in.

He looked down at what Dipper was holding in his hands. “What's that? You taking notes on me or something? 'Cause I'll have you know, in a court of law―”

“Oh! No, this is something that was left here yesterday. We're waiting for someone to come and collect it.”

There was a short pause. “Right. Do what you want. Hey, maybe you could ask for a fee, you know, for looking after it for this guy...”

The twins looked at each other.

“Ah! Money-givers!” Stan said, moving away to attend to the first customers of the day.

“So what was in the notebook?”

Dipper gave her a quick rundown, which excluded most of the personal stuff and emphasised most of the supernatural stuff. Because it wasn't like he was interested in finding out about his family or friends, like what Greg was like in person and how the writer and Sara were getting on in marching band, it was just...all the...monsters. Yeah.

“I'm gonna my _Mabel-powers_ to find out who it is!” she declared, putting her fingertips on her temples and squinting her eyes.

“How do they work?”

“Dipper! My powers are too incredible to be confined by the limits of mere language!”

As it turned out, 'Mabel-powers' included guessing that every customer they saw was the writer of the notebook. No one asked for it all morning, so the twins, and sometimes Wendy, amused themselves by coming up with ludicrous explanations for why Mabel really was right about _this_ customer.

When a tall, skinny boy walked in pulling along a younger boy, Dipper perked up from their current analysis of why the guy with the Free Pizza shirt was _definitely_ the one who had seen all the town's paranormal secrets. The older boy was looking around the shop, while the younger boy was flying a toy bluebird through the air. “Hey, Mabel, wait. This might be him.”

Mabel gasped. “I was _right!_ It _is_ a cute boy!”

Dipper pulled a face. If Mabel was really going to do her crush thing _yet again_ at the expense of his search for answers then—

“Look at his little bluebird toy! He's _adorable._ Though, he's probably not the one writing all the poetry and stuff.” She gave him a sideways glance. “What, you thought I was talking about the other guy? He’s _sooo_ not my type. Come on, it’s like you hardly know me!” Mabel punctuated her last thought with a hard poke to his shoulder.

Dipper smacked her arm away, and then she flicked him back, and he was ready to pay her back for that when the boy spoke―to Wendy. At the counter. Dipper realised he didn't look like the pinnacle of responsibility at that moment.

“Uh, hi. I'm looking for something I think I left here yesterday, a black notebook? Do you―do you have it? It's fine if you don’t. I’m, I’m just asking to make sure.”

“Yeah, my two friends here have been talking about it all morning.” she said, gesturing to the twins. “I think you totally need to spend some time with my main man Dipper. I'm betting the universe implodes in on itself from too much dorkiness, and that's something I'd like to see.”

“Wh―hey! I'm not…never mind. Greg, stop playing with the...pig.” He looked at the twins. “You have a _pig?_ ”

Wendy laughed, then turned her focus to the woman standing in front of the counter with a collection of souvenirs.

Dipper swallowed. Okay, so, he was meeting the guy whose life he'd been obsessing over all night, and he already knew that Dipper acted childishly with his sister, had been talking about the notebook all morning _and_ that they had a weird pet. This was not going well so far.

“His name is Waddles! And he likes being played with, no need to stop, little guy,” Mabel said, and went over to join Greg― _the Greg that he'd read so much about―_ and Waddles, leaving Dipper on his own.

He took in the older boy's appearance, with his big ears and pointed nose and grandad-ish clothes, feeling kind of...starstruck. That was weird. He just wrote some words, but Dipper felt like it was a real privilege to be able to actually speak with him―except about anything that was contained in the notebook. Otherwise he would _know_. And he'd leave. And Mabel would feel sad that she couldn't play with Greg anymore. And he couldn't have that.

Flustered, Dipper thrust up the notebook to the other's eyeline. “What was your name again? My name's Dipper―wait, you already know that. Dipper Pines. The girl trying to make her pig do a backflip is my sister Mabel.” He kept eye contact with the older boy for a few moments, face slowly heating up in his embarrassment. Ugh, why hadn't he come up with a plan or an outline or  _something_  to help him with this conversation?

“I'm Wirt. He's Greg, as you probably heard, and he's my brother, as you...probably guessed.”

If only he knew that Dipper had no need for guessing.

“Thanks,” he said, plucking the book out of Dipper's hands. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you have a pet pig when we have a pet frog. Greg would probably be trying to make them play together if Jason Funderburker wasn't back in California.”

“Wait, really? That's where we live! We're just staying here for the summer. Usually, we're in Piedmont.” Wow. Okay, so when Wirt wrote about 'the Unknown', it must have been from when he first visited the town, right?

Wirt raised his eyebrows. “I think that’s not far from us? I don’t know, my geographical knowledge isn’t perfect—because why learn about the world around you when you can, when you can learn about dead artists, right? Uh...hehe..." He cleared his throat. "But, well, we live in Novato. What a funny coincidence. As is the fact that our siblings seem to get along as well as the bee with the spring flower, a collusion of saccharine colour and energy, encapsulating the season of creation and renewal…”

Dipper took a second to work out what he was saying, then let out a "Hahaha, yeah!" that sounded too delayed and forceful to sound right.

Wirt smiled a little at him and continued, “We can leave them to have fun together for a while. Our parents are visiting the lake, and I said I wanted to come back for this, so... Did you, uh―why were you talking about my notebook? Did you...”

“No! No, no, I wasn't... We made a game out of it. Guess who the notebook belongs to whilst knowing _nothing about the contents of the notebook whatsoever_. Hey! So, uh, _gnomes_ , right?” That would have been done so much more smoothly _if only he'd had a plan_.

“BEATRICE, NO!” Mabel shouted, the bluebird lying on the floor underneath Waddles as he rolled around. “Greg, quick! Use the ancient technique of Aoshima, lightening hands of death!”

“Lightening hands!” Greg repeated, running his fingers up and down the pig’s big belly. Waddles squealed and flailed his little legs around until he scrambled onto his trotters and away from the kids.

“You did it! You conquered the hog and saved your friend! Hooray!” Mabel said, scooping up Greg into her arms and doing a victory dance with him and Beatrice.

Wirt and Dipper looked at each other with a sigh and a smile. Maybe Dipper had gotten away with that moment of awkwardness.

“You know, I was a gnome for Halloween last year. I guess. I don't know, it was just some stupid costume, and―yeah, it, it made me look like a gnome.”

Oh. Okay. That was...a better reaction than he expected. Dipper wondered if that was because Wirt was particularly understanding of what it was like to be awkward―or if he just saw him as some little kid...

Right, he needed to get the conversation onto the paranormal so that he could show how much he'd already discovered. “So, like...was your costume based on any real-life experiences, or...?"

"Uh. Well. N-no? I don't―I-I wouldn't know what...it was just...I mean, I just put some stuff together," he mumbled. His eyes glanced around the room as he frowned.

"'Cause...I mean...if you'd happened to have gone through any kind of...or, you know,  _found_ any sort of...gnome colony...that would be..." Dipper tried to suggest, feeling less and less sure of himself with every word.

Wirt stared at him for a few long moments, scratching the back of his head.

The silence was too much; he cracked under the pressure. " _I'm sorry I just really wanna talk about what you wrote about in that notebook!"_ he said in one breath, desperation tinging his words. Wirt narrowed his eyes and Dipper started blushing. Were there any monsters in Gravity Falls that could create a hole to swallow him up? That seemed like the only solution to what was literally the worst way of going about talking to Wirt in the entire world.

“Sorry, you―you read this?”

“Uh...”

He flicked through the pages of his book and started tapping his fingers against the binding. “I mean, I've been told my secrets are perfectly normal, but I wasn't talking about my _family_ then, and then there's all the―um...th-the...the other stuff... Why would you want to―? It's―m-maybe Greg and I should just go," he stammered. His hand went up to his hair, leaving it fluffier when it dropped down again, and he started turning away from Dipper in the direction of the two oblivious siblings.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He took a step forward and grabbed onto Wirt's sweater sleeve. "I didn't mean to, like, invade your privacy, or whatever, but then I read about what you called the Unknown and I realised that you actually  _know_ how weird Gravity Falls  _is_ and I've  _really_ been struggling to find anyone else that does and if we could just _talk_ about stuff like the Summerween Trickster and the witches, we...we could learn so much from each other! Seriously, I've dealt with the lake's robot Gobblewonker, zombies, and―and the gnomes! They tried to marry my sister! I swear you can trust me, Wirt. _Please_ don't go." _  
_

Wirt was looking as frozen as the Shapeshifter had been in the stasis tube. His eyes were wide, his mouth was stretched into a thin line, and it seemed as if he was having difficulty finding any words he could say. When he finally did speak, Dipper realised why. “Dipper...this is the first time I've been to Gravity Falls. The Unknown was...something else. I mean, it was nothing. Greg and I went back over the cemetery wall and there was nothing there out of the ordinary. I don't know anything about those things you were talking about.”

A quiet “oh” left Dipper's mouth and he let go of Wirt's sleeve out of surprise. He'd been so sure―everything seemed to fit together so perfectly, and none of it had happened in Gravity Falls? Then he'd read the notebook for nothing, he didn't have any developments to the mysteries he'd been solving, he couldn't even convince Wirt that what he saw was real, because it turned out Dipper didn't know anything he thought he knew. 'The Unknown' seemed like a good name for it right now―whatever 'it' was.

Greg came running up to them, and he quickly stepped back as the little boy rushed into Wirt's personal space. “Wirt! Wirt! Can we stay here forever? Waddles is my best friend now and Mabel is my bestest best friend and we can live off of the food in the vending machine!”

Wirt gave Dipper a nervous look. “Uh... No, Greg, we can't stay here forever. In fact, I'm slightly worried the owner's gonna come kick us out for loitering.”

“But I haven’t dropped anything, I promise! Look,” he said, showing Wirt his palms.

Wirt turned his full attention to Greg in that moment, confusion clear on his face. “What? No—no, _loitering_ , not littering. Standing around wasting time. You know, what you do every day?” He gave his brother's nose a poke that made Greg blink a few times in quick succession.

“Oh. If we buy food from the vending machine, we won't be loitering, will we?”

“He's got a point,” Mabel said with a grin.

"Um... Greg, I'm not sure if Dipper wants me here."

"What? No, that's not true!" he interrupted.

"W―uh, regardless, we've gotta get back to Mom and Dad soon, and apparently there's a robot...thing...in the lake? Doesn't that sound...exciting?" he said unsurely.

Mabel stage-whispered, “Actually, it got broken down into scrap metal after we found out who built it.”

“Whaaat?” Greg said, pouting.

Wirt looked at Dipper, opening his mouth and closing it again a couple of times before he spoke. “Look, um... I'm... I'm really sorry I couldn't give you what you were looking for. But if you don't mind teaching me about...whatever's going on in this town, I-I'll listen. The fact that you know my innermost secrets is kinda terrifying, and you probably think I'm a terrible person, I wouldn't blame you for that, but I guess you've kinda unintentionally listened to me about the weird things  _I've_ seen, and...I'm starting to think that might be a good thing?"

"Hey, no, man, you're totally different to the person you were when you started writing that notebook! Plus, I'm the one who read it... I don't think you're a bad guy at all. And you write amazing things and, y-yeah! I'd totally love to have someone who knows about supernatural stuff to talk about this with, even if you don't know the specifics of it. How long are you staying for?"

"A few more days―sorry, Greg, that's gonna be the case even if you do wanna stay here forever."

"Aw, beans."

Dipper looked up at the taller boy hopefully. "So you'll come around again? And...and maybe keep in touch when you're gone?"

Wendy slapped a hand on Wirt and Dipper's shoulders, finally getting to enjoy her 3 hour-long break. “Plannin' on meeting up again already! See, I knew you'd make the best of friends. Trust me, dude, Dipper's a great guy, even if he is a bit younger. And the universe hasn't imploded yet, so it seems like you're good on that front too.”

“Uh, thank you”―his eyes flickered down to her name tag―“Wendy. There’s certainly a number of fortunate coincidences and comparisons between us. Perhaps it was meant to be, as a pebble's journey along a river is destined to settle in the sea.”

“Ooh, I like him. Dipper: take notes.”

“So, yeah, I'll ask my parents about spending our time with you, like, tomorrow? Oh, about staying in touch—would you ever send me letters, or is that too much to ask for when emails and phones exist?”

Dipper beamed. “Of course! Letters are good. _Great._ ”

“...Yeah.” He smiled down at the younger boy. “And soon enough we'll both be back in California, right? Until then, me and Greg can demonstrate how good we are at dealing with the unexplainable."

"Wirt'll give 'em the ol' kickeroo!" Greg proclaimed with a demonstrative kick that landed on Wirt's shin.

"Ow,  _Greg!_ Ugh. By the way, you have to explain the story behind gnomes wanting to  _marry Mabel_ , guys, that sounds nuts."

The kids shared a laugh, and, as if on cue, Stan walked in demanding they got back to work. Wirt wrote down something on the last page of his notebook and tore it out, handing it to Dipper.

The Mystery Shack crew waved goodbye to Wirt and Greg, the latter of whom was telling Wirt a bunch of ‘facts’ about pigs. When they were out of sight, Dipper marvelled at the little piece of the notebook, the little piece of Wirt's life, that he could keep forever. On it was written his phone number, email address, house address―wow, he was thorough. And, finally, a promise: _We'll help each other uncover our mysteries. I'm looking forward to it._


End file.
